


Why... did You Buy that Much?

by MarisFerasi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemas, First Time, Humor, M/M, Patient John, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Shower Sex, This Is STUPID, Virgin Sherlock, a ridiculous amout of lube, insipid as fuck, maybe dildos, overassuming sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisFerasi/pseuds/MarisFerasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows, he KNOWS that tonight is THE night. The night John will finally give in and penetrate him. So he cleans the flat and goes shopping. Tiny baby sherlock buys ridiculous things in a 3-story sex shop in SoHo and none of it even matters once John gets there.<br/>This is insipid; it's stupid, a farce. I am an utter cock-up at virginlock, but the beloved Kittiehill requested it, so here my darling. Here you go. I hope I don't disappoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why... did You Buy that Much?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittieHill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/gifts).



> ahem. so. KittieHill is the obscenely direct reason for this trollop. I am no good at virginLock, but I tried. I went for (seriously I did) less than 1500 words, and ended up with (ridiculous) 4200 words. ugh. I couldn't help myself, I usually do cockslut Sherlock with bdsm. I put in enemas, because in my head Sherlock is nothing if not both curious and thorough. so there you go. KittieHIll, I hope you like it. omg. i'm going to hide now.

“Sherlock, are you up?” John called from the sitting room. He was tucking his shirt tails into his trousers, readying for a shift at the surgery in half an hour. No answer came, so the doctor went to the man’s bedroom door. Leaning on the frame, John took in the scene before him.

Long pale limbs sprawled out across the mattress, soaking up all the empty space and body heat that John had left behind only moments ago. He wished, down to his bones, to slide back under the duvet and hide alongside his new lover from the thunderstorm raging outside. As a loud boom rattled the widow, Sherlock stirred just enough to writhe a bit on the sheet, the duvet sliding down to the soft swell of his bum. Long fingers curled into Sherlock’s mussed hair and he settled, heaving a sigh as he stretched fully onto John’s side and buried his face in his pillow. John smiled and walked over to the bedside, leaning over his new boyfriend.

“Sherlock? Love, I’ve got to head in to the surgery. I’ll be back for our date tonight, yeah?” Sherlock smiled in his sleep and agreed with a soft ‘mmmhmmm.’

John chuckled and stepped back, grabbing his coat and heading down the stairs and out into the wet weather.

Upstairs, Sherlock sat bolt upright and stretched, glad that John was finally out so he could get started. Tonight was going to be one for the books.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Sherlock had the flat cleaned, the kitchen sanitized, the table gleaming dully, the microscope in its cabinet, and the refrigerator cleared of all nasty bits. Sweaty and tired, he made a sandwich and started a shower.

Under the spray of the hot water, Sherlock let his mind wander. A soapy hand rubbed down to his groin and his plumping but still-soft cock. It was quickly becoming interested. Sherlock had been thinking while cleaning about what tonight meant. John had promised a date. A real one. They’d eaten together numerous times. Too many to count (547 times to date. Mary had messed up the numbers a bit). But now John was _his_ and Sherlock had been bothering him for a few weeks now.

But tonight was _the_ night. The detective was adamant that he and John were going to have actual sex tonight, after their date. Everything had been going great so far. John had turned out to be quite oral, as it turned out, and they’d had difficulty keeping their hands off one another. But Sherlock found it made him only want more. He was nervous as all hell; what if he made a fool of himself?

Instead of teasing himself further, Sherlock got out of the shower and selected some dark jeans and a t-shirt from the back of his closet. He was going to Soho, to a sex shop. No need for his usual armor. He’d only be recognized in the Belstaff.

Tugging on a soft jacket and tucking his wallet into his pocket, Sherlock took a steadying breath and went out into the storm.

* * *

 

“First time, hon?” the woman in the shop crooned at Sherlock as she approached. He’d been standing and staring at the wall of phalluses for about 10 minutes before she had rolled her eyes and come over.

“Erm, so to speak.” He answered, trying not to blush. This was the reason for the disguise, he’d have been assaulted at the door these days. Now he looked like he was trying to blend in, and the girl had taken the hint. She still recognized his minor celebrity, but didn’t try to make a show of it.

Sherlock had had toys before, in uni. For science. And by that he meant pure experimentation. But soon he’d fallen out of love with them and fallen _into_ love with John. And that meant stretching would be a chore. But with toys, it could be far more fun. Sherlock gripped the 64oz pump-style bottle of lubricant a little tighter to his chest and flapped a hand at the wall.

“Do you have any suggestions for first time couples?” the shop keeper smiled and narrowed her eyes at his choice of lube. She took it from him, went to the display, and brought back the same size bottle of CleanStream natural anal lube and an enema kit.

“You’ll want these, first. Always good to make an impression. Now as for toys….” She turned and eyed the wall speculatively before making three choices and presenting them.

“A prostate massager,” she held up the curved, bumpy green toy. “A fairly slender, but long toy for stretching,” she held up a large red worm-looking thing, thankfully without fake bollocks at the end, but a suction cup. “And a plug, top keep yourself, or _him,_ open for longer play.” She indicated at a deep purple anal plug. All three items were agreed upon and rung up, and after ten minutes of asking advice and withstanding the frankly embarrassing answers, Sherlock headed back onto the main street with a matte black bag stuffed with blue tissue paper and sex paraphernalia and a red face. When he slid into a cab with a huff, he could already feel the blood thrumming through his veins.

* * *

 

John groaned as he sunk into a bench seat on the central line. His lower back was aching from standing and stooping into people’s faces all day, diagnosing colds and achey bones and heat rashes. The thunderous rain had subsided, but black clouds still loomed over the city, promising a typhoon in the late evening. The good doctor just hoped to get home first.

As the Baker Street station came to grinding stop and John exited with a small crowd, following the rush up the white-bricked path up and out onto the street, he became aware of a strange and very un-Sherlock-like absence of texts on his mobile. John checked it again, walking the block to their flat. A thin smile came to his lips, along with a surge of blood to his groin.

They’d been arguing, gently, for a few weeks now about having more than just oral and intracrural sex. Sherlock wanted full penetration, and John had the feeling that the detective was using this night, their first out-in-public date night, to get what he wanted. John couldn’t say that he _didn’t_ want this, by god he did. Just the sight of those long thighs, hell just the _thought_ of them, was enough to have him sliding his bag in front of his plumping erection on the street. Yes, he wanted to sink deep inside of Sherlock, to own him and mark him and show him what it was like. To be his first made it just that much more difficult to take this step, though. He didn’t want to push the detective, but he also didn’t want to lose his tight control and snap, causing pain or even upset in such a tender moment.

John took a breath, steeled his nerves, and unlocked the street door.

* * *

 

Sherlock stepped out of the shower, patted his skin suitably dry, and walked through the en-suite door to check the clock on his bedside. He had about fifteen minutes before John arrived, 20 if he took the tube.

The detective grabbed what he needed out of the bag and began storing it. The toys and lube went in and on his bedside, respectively. The enema kit and its premixed herbal- saline packets went into the toilet’s linen closet for use when they got home after dinner. Using it befoper sinner seemed counterproductive, and Sherlock blushed anew. Looking down at himself, the detective went and dug out his rarely-used electric clippers and trimmed his pubic hair, gathering all the clippings and sending them down the toilet. Now, feeling much cleaner on several different levels, Sherlock took a steadying breath and went to dress for their date. He heard the door downstairs unlock and click open as he shut his bedroom door.

“In here John, getting dressed,” Sherlock called out when his name was questioned from the sitting room. He heard John walk over and wait outside the door, hesitating. “Come in, it’s fine.” He said with only a slight eye-roll.

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping socks over his long feet with his open purple shit hanging off his shoulders. John leaned on the door jamb, licking his lips. He asked after the doctor’s day, and as John supplied the answer, he let his eyes roam the room, settling on the frankly ridiculous bottle of lubricant on Sherlock’s side of the bed.

“Why…did you buy a bloody liter of lube?” John asked, trying to keep the giggle out of his voice and failing. Sherlock stood and began buttoning his purple button-down, tucking the tails in.

“Not good?” he asked, flushing furiously. Sherlock tried to turn away but John caught his elbow.

“Hey, it will come in handy, love. No worries. Quite good, actually. Just funny to see that much outside of a porno set, that’s all,” as John gave up and finally laughed aloud.

Sherlock bent down and planted a firm kiss on John’s mouth, lingering as he finished the last couple buttons and then retreated for his jacket and went out in search of his shoes. John followed him out into the sitting room.

“Where are we going, Sherlock? Do I need to change?” John looked over himself as he walked up his staircase. He was definitely changing his shirt. There was a small iodine stain on it, and lord knew how many germs from the spring fevers and flu-riddled people he’d seen that day. John stripped the button down and selected an ivory polo which he tucked into his khakis and shrugged a dark green cardigan over his shoulders. He also changed from his work shoes- some ugly white trainers- into leather brogues. Checking that he had his wallet, John exited his bedroom and went downstairs.

“You look ravishing, John,” Sherlock beat him to the punch, flushing and leading them down and out onto the street.

“My, my, Sherlock. Trying to get into my pants?” the doctor teased, stomping down the stairs after the lithe detective. The burning glare he was given in answer made him chuckle before he was pressed amiably up against the wallpaper and snogged ruthlessly. “Sher-Sherlock,” he gasped, pushing at the taller man. “Are you sure you even want to go to dinner, good lord,” he cried as Sherlock pressed his long erection into John’s hip, grinding and teasing.

‘Entirely up to you, John. I’ve an enema kit upstairs with my name on it, and you saw the lube. But that’s less than half of what I’ve gotten up to today. We can go out, have the farce of a date, or you can drag me back up there, fuck me into the mattress, and we can order in Thai much, much later.’ This was what Sherlock had said to John in his head. Not aloud. He was having another one of those slight out-of-body experiences, like when he’d been asked to be the Best Man (not that he was thinking about that at this moment) but John’s prodding at his pectoral brought him back into the present, trying to catch his breath from that unspoken thought. “We could just…not,” Sherlock said instead, kicking himself internally for the lameness of that statement.

Instead of being deterred, John laughed and smiled brightly. “Order in some Thai later, then? When we are a bit more exhausted and sore?” God, how did John _do that_? Sherlock wondered. He just…spoke exactly what he’d been thinking.

Instead of letting him dwell on that, John pushed Sherlock’s suit coat off his shoulders and pushed him backward back upstairs and nudged him toward the bedroom.

“Oh, wait,” Sherlock broke the kiss connecting them, head swiveling to the toilet. “I’ve erm…that is, I got a kit today, for… this…uhm.” Instead of talking more, he blushed hard and sort of scooted sideways into the loo, John following after him with a furrowed brow. When Sherlock pulled the enema kit and one of the packets out of the cupboard, John swooned.

“John, I…I want you… _us_ to, so badly. Please? I’ll do this first, and we can do whatever we want, I’ll be _so clean_. Can we?” he asked, head ducked a bit, gripping the bag and hose in front of himself.

“How about… Sherlock,” John tugged at the younger man’s chin, looking him in the eye. “How about we take a shower, yeah? We can do this if you’d like, and you can help me wash off the workday funk, and we uh, _clean up_ together?” John asked, licking his lips and eyeing the bag again. He took and looked over the bag of solution as Sherlock happily agreed, sliding off his clothes down to his pants and turning to warm up the shower water. John filled the enema bag with a nice, warm liquid, ever present in his mind that the internal body temperature would require a heat warmer than your fingers thought it should be. He added the bag of salts and herbs and shook it, mashing on the bag’s edges and middle to get the stuff dissolved properly. In the meantime, Sherlock had been sitting on the edge of the tub, watching raptly as John read the instructions thoroughly and performed them. He’d already memorized the procedure, but he let the doctor do as he would, knowing that his rare silence was appreciated.

“You wouldn’t have known to do that when we’d met,” John commented, lacing the metal hook the bag came with into its eyelet and hooking it over the shower curtain rod. The hose fell obscenely to the basin of the tub, ended in a flow-check tab. The sterile tip was still in John’s hand, waiting to be unwrapped and lubricated. Sherlock’s cheeks flamed at the sight, his blood dancing all along his body under his skin, making it oversensitive. John came closer and cupped the younger man’s cheek, a thumb crooking its way over his lower lip.

The look of curiosity in those verdigris eyes made John chuckle. “I could feel you watching, Sherlock. Your silence. You wouldn’t have known to just let something _be_ a few years ago.” Sherlock made a _hmmmm_ sound of contentment and stood, crowding John against the wall next to the shower stall as he kissed at him and plucked at his shirt buttons. Once he was nude, the doctor hooked his thumbs into the soft waistband of Sherlock’s tight black pants and slid them down, sighing as the hot line of his arousal hit the doctor low on his belly. Sherlock blushed, hand flapping in front of his pulsing erection when John pushed him back and sat himself on the closed lid of the toilet. Taking the hose of the enema bag in hand, the doctor gestured Sherlock closer and helped push him into position on the floor. The directions gave you two options; laying on your side with one leg drawn up to your chest, or on all fours with your arse in the air, chest to the floor. Sherlock began to choose the former, but at the look of slight disappointment in John’s eye, he settled into the latter, arse facing John. Despite how much he wanted to sink into the floor with embarrassment at the exposure, the hungry growl that left John as a finger traced his rim with lubricant was worth it. Sherlock buried his face in a towel and dealt.

John bit his lip as his erection raged on, his fingers remaining gentle as he probed Sherlock’s arse for the tip of the enema. “Ready? Just a finger first, then the tube,” John assured. Sherlock nodded and turned his face to the side to watch. John took a steadying breath and sunk in his index finger, muscle memory had it curving to probe for his lover’s prostate. Satisfied once Sherlock squirmed and gasped, John withdrew and set the tube at his entrance. “Here goes the tube, love.” Sherlock nodded again and the tube went in smoothly, the hot water seeping in once John flipped the switch on the hose.

Sherlock gasped, the feeling of wetness and just slightly _wrong_ filling his senses. But he knew what it was, and it wasn’t at all painful, so he stilled himself and let it happen.

John moaned, running greedy fingers all over Sherlock’s backside and thighs, gripping and trying to contain himself. Sherlock, once he got used to the sensation and his wits came back into himself, propped up on his elbows and turned his shoulders back to face John.

“Will you, uhm…come down here?” John gave him a curious look but went down to his knees on the tile, sitting near Sherlock’s head with his back to the wall. The younger man crept over, insinuating the top half of himself into John’s lap for a thorough snogging session. John’s burgeoning erection was pressing against his chest, up between his pectorals and blood was thundering through his senses. Sherlock broke the kiss to look shyly down at the glistening head under his suprasternal notch. He looked back up at John, eyes wide, before shimmying down to lap at the glans delicately.

John’s breath caught in his throat and he shifted, giving Sherlock more room to move. The bag above them was almost empty, signaling time to get up, but John kept that to himself for a moment. Sherlock was a rare sight with a cock between his lips, one he rarely got to see with the light on, so John decided to let it play out. Sherlock made a face as his bowels were filled, the pressure feeling so unusual and foreign, but it tingled rather than hurt because of the additives. When his abdominal muscles began to cramp, he slurped up and off of John’s cock and whined.

“Alright, love. Onto the toilet. John helped Sherlock sit and watched as the younger man pulled the tube out and evacuated, cleaning up the hose and the bag as he waited. Once Sherlock nodded and started to stand, they got into the shower stall and started the water on full heat.

“Do you have any idea how much I adore you, love?” John murmured, sluicing water down Sherlock’s spine in the wake of a loofah. Shlerock blushed, hands buried in John’s hair, massaging in the shampoo there. In the absence of an answer, John pitched forward and caught a nipple in his teeth, biting gently before moving to the other.

“I- _agh, John!-_ I might have an idea, after all this time.”

“Oh, you might?” John echoed. He rinsed his hair and slammed off the water, stepping out and dragging the coltish detective with him. Flopping the younger man onto the bedsheets still wet might not have been the best idea, but it was better than watching the man stutter around drying himself off in front of John. The doctor stared plainly down at him, observing every displayed inch.

Sherlock blushed for the umpteenth time that night, curling in on himself a bit as he stretched to the other side of the bed and reached in the bedside for his new toys. Showing them to John, the ex-soldier’s eyes darkened tremendously. He picked up the dildo, testing its girth and heft before crawling onto the bed and straddling Sherlock’s hips. Leaning down for a kiss, he murmured onto heavenly, trembling lips, “are you certain about this, Sherlock? Because if you are, I’m going to make you _melt_. But if you are not, we can wait, and I’ll still give you a mind-numbing orgasm.” Sherlock kissed him back and shuddered, the soft pink making its way down his neck and chest, before answering:

“John, I… I need this. _Please._ I might not last, but I do want this, more than anything. Please?” he asked, turning the brightest shade of red yet and trying to burrow his face back into a pillow. John shoved them all to the floor with a huff and reached over to get a pump of the lubricant.

“Oh, specifically ‘anal lube?’ good job,” John commented, laughing aloud. Sherlock couldn’t escape, being pinned beneath John, so he did the next best thing. He leaned his head up and latched his mouth onto John’s cock, bobbing above his face. That shut the doctor up in record time as he gasped and bucked down, nearly choking the detective.

Rather than going back to the task at hand, John sat there a moment and reveled in the firm suction, until Sherlock slapped him on the arse and wriggled. Laughing again, John backed down the long, lithe body, tucking his bent legs up under Sherlock’s ungodly long thighs and parted them. The dildo was still clenched in one hand, the other cupping a palm full of lightly benzocated lube. He rubbed the toy into his palm and then slicked up Sherlock’s hole, running delicate fingers over and around the rim, up to his cock, and back down. By the time he had a finger in, Sherlock was half-ready to finger himself to completion from the torment.

“Gah, Joh—please, just…already, ugh,” the younger man cried, writhing on the wet sheets. A loud peal of thunder cracked overhead, shaking the window panes and making them both jump. Sherlock laughed it off but still writhed, urging John to sink in another finger. He obliged, making Sherlock’s breath hitch in his chest. “Guuuuhhhh…” he groaned, legs tensing and hips rolling in John’s lap. John grinned and leaned down, mouthing at but not sinking down _on_ Sherlock’s tumescent cock from where it bobbed, thick and long and sweet below him. Sherlock reared up, eyes blowing wide as he gasped. “John, no! I wont, I can’t—” John backed up and off, smiling down as he withdrew his fingers, lined up and sunk the toy into Sherlock’s loosened hole.

It slid in with a bit more stretch, but it was smaller than John’s cock, still, so it would be good to get used to the slight burn now. Sherlock’s eyes pressed closed as he tried his damnedest to delay his orgasm, the tension building in his groin already. He wanted to have john inside him when he—oh no!

John was mouthing at his cock again, which had flagged a tiny bit from the burn, but it came back now in full force as his hips pistoned against the toy, having found his prostate.

“John, no I want, you need to—please! Agh!” Sherlock cried out as his whole body tensed, but John was too late in backing off. Sherlock came hard, untouched, his muscles convulsing from the force of it, his anal walls clamping around the toy as John nudged it in and out again, easing him though it. Through his horrific embarrassment, Sherlock dragged himself back to the moment, with John slipping the toy out and setting it down on the floor to clean later.

“John, no I… I still want...I’m sorry, I couldn’t, it was so much. But please, you—” Sherlock was beside himself, incoherent and blissed-out. John smiled and got another pump of lube, slicking himself.

“Not to worry, love. I wouldn’t have let that stretched, beautiful arse go to waste on some toy in my presence. May I?” John was poised at his entrance, rubbing in gentle circles with the head of his cock, waiting. Bless him. The benzocaine in the lube helped with the oversensitivity, easig the passage as John sunk in deep on the first thrust, the way having been stretched by the toy quite thoroughly. Sherlock still hissed, but now it was a tired, more exhausted sigh through his teeth than pain. He was amazingly sore, used, but it felt so right. He couldn’t fight it. And John, hot and throbbing and _insistent_ inside him. It was heaven.

“This is how I’m meant to die,” he murmured, half under his breath, but John heard and started thrusting with a feverish pace.

“Wait a minute, love, and I’ll join you there.” He grunted, fingers digging and gripping at bony hips and slim thighs as he found his pace, berating Sherlock’s abused prostate until the younger man’s cock began to swell up again, never having quite gone down. John reached down and took him in hand, tugging roughly for the first time that night.

“Oh, God, John, I can’t. I _ca—aaan’t”_ Sherlock screamed as another orgasm took hold, milking his bollocks with harsh aftershocks when he felt John’s hot semen flood his well-used hole. John was propped above him on his fists, chest tense as he held himself up and off of Sherlock.

Well, the detective wasn’t having that. He tugged John down easily into a wet plop on his front, right into two loads of Sherlock’s come. John grimaced and groaned, lifting his hips to slide wetly out of Sherlock’s arse. They both groaned with shades of disgust, but John slid himself off the bed and stumbled into the loo for some wet flannels before Sherlock could even think of the idea.

John padded back into the bedroom, warm flannels in hand, having deposited the toy in the sink along with the enema kit. It had certainly been an interesting evening.

“Was that good?” John asked, which earned him a withering glare that didn’t quite come out as strong as Sherlock had intended for it to. He laughed and wiped at the mess, reaching between Sherlock’s legs and wiping at his own mess down there. Sherlock winced but his expression cleared quickly. John disappeared back into the loo to drop the flannels and rummaged in their huge first aid kit for a moment. He returned with a salve for minor injuries and rubbed it gently over Sherlock’s abused hole before capping it and flopping onto the mattress. Sherlock immediately wrapped John into his considerable limbs and curled in close.

John was almost asleep, high on an endorphin wave, when he felt more than heard a vibration against his shoulder. “Hmm?” he asked to the open air.

“Thai?” Sherlock asked hopefully, prodding John in the ribs with a long, bony finger.

John laughed and rolled over to fetch his mobile, laughing anew at the ridiculous size of that bottle of lube

**Author's Note:**

> send me your requests! I will post them, it just might take a little while. I work 50+ hours a week for Amazon, and literally do not have a life outside of walking and sleeping. but i'll do it, OBV!  
> hope you liked it...omg bye. *hiding


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